


Spreadsheets Were Easier.

by Five_star_hellhole



Category: Cassandra Palmer Series - Karen Chance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-17 00:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13647471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Five_star_hellhole/pseuds/Five_star_hellhole
Summary: When our trio first met. One shot.





	Spreadsheets Were Easier.

“This is it. This is how I die.” Fred was sure of it. There had been a few times through the year he flirted with encounters with death, mostly when his old masters would go to war. The pen, or in his case the calculator, wasn’t always mightier than the sword. Fred was so lost in thought he barely noticed his two new comrades get into the black SUV with him. The three of them had been thrown together and met on the flight to this sandy cesspool, he wasn’t sure what to think of them but figured family was safe enough. He sat in the back seat absentmindedly rubbing his hands over his corduroys, a habit he had back from his human days. He may not be able to sweat anymore, but some things are hard to break. 

Minutes passed in stony silence inside the car, “almost like a tomb” Fred thought.

“Can you please stop that scratching? STDs were healed when you changed, Fred.” The blonde, Jules, Fred corrected himself, quipped at him.

“Well, I mean, what are we doing exactly? Do either of you know? I mean, do you… did Mircea tell you anything?” He nervously cleared his throat, Mircea had sent another master to fetch him from his office who told him to get on this plane and to wear a tie. He nervously pulled at it, unused to it. 

The driver flicked his eyes towards him in the rear view mirror before turning back to the road. “Pythia.” The dark haired one gruffed at him. Fred sat back. He could feel something small and terrified inside himself curl tighter. 

“Are we…. uh, are we to ask her for something?” Fred knew he should have gone to Mircea and asked to stay, he had spreadsheets to get done. Quarterly taxes were nearly due! Fred tried to imagine it, going to Mircea and arguing against an order. The thought had him repressing his instinct to hyperventilate. 

“No, protect her. We’re her new bodyguards.” Jules said before sighing as he let his head drop back against the front passenger seat. 

“Oh. God. No.” Fred whispered; maybe hyperventilating would help. He had been right, this was how he dies. Without another word they all went back to silently watching the road, the glimmering lights of the Vegas Strip flooding inside their car as they drove towards their assignment. The rainbow of neon flashing on their faces as they approached the hotel, Dante’s. The hellscape facade did nothing to calm his nerves or make him feel even slightly prepared. He forced his mind to think of his quiet office. The evenly stacked and organized files, the pristine desk, the careful arrangement of pencils. “Goodbye” he thought to his safe and calm world, it was time to enter hell. His hand reached for the door handle as the attendant came to take the vehicle, but before any of them could even get out their first order was in. 

“She’s gone, unprotected, get there now or suffer the consequences.” came through their heads along with a description of a pizza place and enough foul language to make his ears tinge red. Fred saw the driver, Rico, he thought was his name, put the car back into gear and floor it. As they swung out onto the street, nearly clipping another vehicle, Fred thought he saw the barest outline of something in the sky before it was obscured by the glitz and glitter of the skyscrapers. 

“Just think about the work waiting for you, old man” he thought, he couldn’t possibly be here long. He had an important job to do back in Washington and a bodyguard he was not. He just needed to hold out, how bad could it be?

His hands continued to rub along his pants, this time no one said anything.


End file.
